


Friendly

by SuccubusKayko



Series: On a Lark [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Affection, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood Spoilers, Friends to Lovers, Gambling, Homecoming, M/M, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi, Period-Typical Sexism, Poly!WoL, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory Negotiations, Poor Life Choices, Tender Sex, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-22 17:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14313705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuccubusKayko/pseuds/SuccubusKayko
Summary: A series of short stories about Estinien's return to Ishgard after Stormblood and getting used to the fact that Aymeric is now in an open relationship with the Warrior of Light.





	1. Friendly Drink

**Author's Note:**

> “I have to be honest, Aymeric” Shirina began, tugging her coat close around her against the sudden, bitter chill of the room, cheeks burning, “When you invited me for a drink, I did not expect it to be a formal one.”
> 
> “I see that the Lord Commander neglected to inform you of mine own attendance.”
> 
> “If I had known sooner, I would have informed you, of course,” Aymeric conceded, giving her a small, apologetic smile that was not at all guilty.

“I have to be honest, Aymeric” Shirina began, tugging her coat close around her against the sudden, bitter chill of the room, cheeks burning, “When you invited me for a drink, I did not expect it to be a formal one.”

 

Ser Aymeric rested in the high-backed chair at the head of his dining table, legs set wide apart, hands clasped over his belly. He was dressed modestly in his more lordly attire, having forgone his armor for the intimate gathering. He looked both comfortable and, she would have said, innocent, if it were not for the amused smirk upon his lips. His cheeks were lightly flushed and his gaze roved over her form, “Pray, forgive if I mislead thee. T'was not mine intent.”

 

She gave him an indignant squint of her eyes and pursed her lips in irritation.

 

She was dressed comfortably as well, but apparently under dressed for the occasion. Her blue, leather, long coat was tailored to her body, tapering just so to accentuate her bosom and hips, and its tails trailed over the backs of her naked thighs. It did not sport buttons, she silently cursed, and prayed that she had made it so with moments like this in mind. As it were, the coat didn't really close over generous breasts which were bound only by a not so modest black leather bandeau that left very little to the imagination. Her midriff was bare, only the small gold ring that pierced her bellybutton adorning it. She squirmed as his eyes followed the curve of her side down to the little black shorts she was wearing, just covering her bottom and cutting off at the tops of her thighs. Her outfit was complete with soft black suede boots that came just over her knees and folded over at the tops. Only the many gold bands of jewelry covered her otherwise.

 

She may not have minded if it were just Aymeric – having worn the outfit for his enjoyment, after all – but it was the unexpected addition of a second guest that made her momentarily regret her decision.

 

There was a bemused snort from the other occupant in the room and she closed her eyes, offering a prayer to Hydaelyn to just pull her into the aether forever, if only she could escape her embarrassment.

 

“I see that the Lord Commander neglected to inform you of mine own attendance.”

 

“If I had known sooner, I would have informed you, of course,” Aymeric conceded, giving her a small, apologetic smile that was not at all guilty.

 

The former Azure Dragoon, Estinien, was sat across and just to the side of the table from Aymeric and despite the visor that covered the majority of his face, she could see the salacious grin curled on his lips, “If I had known that _this_ was the aim of the invitation,” he snickered at her expense, “I may have forgone my mail for something less difficult to divest.” She could almost see the suggestive brow that he raised at her.

 

She'd never felt so embarrassed at showing so much skin. She did not normally dress modestly, not by any means, but the way that Estinien openly leered at her – Was he? – she could not shake the feeling of being naked in front of a crowd.

 

Aymeric did not so much frown as furrow his brows in befuddled amusement at the situation. “Now, Estinien, there is no need to be lewd,” he chastised, but he had to lift his wine glass to his mouth to cover the smile that curled his lips and the laugh that threatened to spill.

 

It gave him a boyish quality that tugged at her heart strings and curled her toes in her boots. Thrice damned _Twelve,_ he was _delicious_.

 

Her cheeks colored further and she flicked her ears back in frustration. She licked her lips and crossed her hands over her chest, trying to cover herself the best that she could.

 

“I could lend you something,” Aymeric offered, as he lowered his glass, his voice and face carefully schooled into his negotiator's neutral, though mirth sparkled in his winter eyes, “If it would make you more comfortable.”

 

“No,” she sniffed, swallowing down her _pride_ , “That will not be necessary.” Her intentions were already apparent and she would just feel silly covering up or leaving now. It wasn't as though she'd made incorrect assumptions before and it certainly wouldn't be the last. They were just men, she told herself, and she was not unused to the attentions of men. Present company included.

 

The two were still gawping at her.

 

She would not be intimidated.

 

She lowered her hands to her hips and cocked them to the side, rolling her shoulders back to puff out her bosom cockily, more comfortable now that the irony of the situation set in. When Aymeric's eyes followed the motion and Estinien's shite-eating smile faltered, she felt a grin curve her lips, wide enough to flash a fang.

 

She swaggered over to the empty seat beside Estinien, delighting in the way his eyes followed her, and took back control of the situation. She leaned back in the chair and kicked her feet up on the table, crossing her ankles, “So, boys, how about that drink?”

 

 

 

 

After a few drinks warmed their bellies, the initial awkwardness of the situation and small talk through, their conversation dissolved into something more comfortable, almost pleasant, even. Aymeric was casually telling a story about his early days in training as a temple knight and how he and Estinien had, at one time, trained together.

 

The Azure Dragoon, for his part, offered little assistance in recalling the events, though he occasionally grit his teeth, growling and cursing Aymeric for lying whenever he said something that could be potentially embarrassing.

 

When the Lord Commander recounted a time that the Dragoon had rescued some seven stray kittens from being drowned in the gutters of the Brume and how he hid them in his footlocker at the barracks until he'd found homes for all of them, Estinien slammed his cup on the table in protest, “How _dare_ you?”

 

“Who knew that,” she'd giggled helplessly, “The stoic Azure Dragoon would have such a soft spot for felines!”

 

It was Aymeric's turn to laugh, the dragoon cursing him as whore son, obviously used to Estinien's crass outbursts and verbal abuses. “I still have one of them,” Aymeric wheezed, holding his belly and trying to reign in his laughter, “She is a lovely old thing.”

 

“I am unconvinced that she is not secretly a demon in the guise of a common feline,” the dragoon snorted into his drink, having quickly recovered from his perceived affront, “Not that other felines are any better.”

 

“She hates Estinien,” Aymeric whispered conspiratorially.

 

“Sounds like a good judge of character,” Shirina cackled.

 

“It really is a shame, he named her for me, after all,” Aymeric chuckled.

 

The dragoon's shoulders tensed and she wondered if it was something embarrassing. She grinned and leaned forward, “Pray tell?”

 

“Her name is Banshee,” the dragoon quipped, shoulders tensing, “Because she yowls like one when she's hungry or angry.”

 

“Oh, come now Estinien,” the smirk on the Lord Commander's face told her that there was more to the story, “What is her full name?”

 

“I will flay the skin from thine bones if you so much as-”

 

“What is it?”

 

“ _The Grand Duchess,_ Banshee de Borel,” Aymeric burst out, ignoring the empty threat.

 

“AYMERIC!”

 

 

 

The Azure Dragoon was easily placated at the mention of a particularly fine cognac that Aymeric had been saving for a special occasion. They were a few drinks off of finishing the bottle when someone – Shirina – suggested a game of cards.

 

Estinien dismissed the idea immediately, stating that only cheats and lords with money to burn played card games.

 

Aymeric, on the other hand, jumped at the idea, suggesting a game of solitaire and retrieving a series of well loved, well worn decks from a side table and distributed them to his guests.

 

They each made themselves busy shuffling and setting up their cards when Estinien started.

 

“What is the meaning of this,” the dragoon demanded, looking over the cards he'd set out and giving them a disparaging look. His cheeks colored and she imagined that it must have reached his ears when she glanced over at the cards.

 

She could not stifle the snort of amusement as she noted that his deck sported vivid depictions of buxom, voluptuous vixens, all in various states of undress and seemingly pleased to be as such.

 

He growled his disapproval and demanded that someone swap with him.

 

Aymeric offered to switch with him and the Lord Commander and Lady Warrior exchanged a knowing look as he slowly flipped the cards into place, turning a deeper and deeper shade of crimson as he revealed their faces.

 

“ _Why_ do you **have** this,” was his strangled, startled objection.

 

The cards faces were no less lewd, this time depicting the painted visages of generously blessed young Hingan men enjoying the company of each other in various delicious and lascivious ways.

 

“I purchased them from an up and coming young artist during my time in Kugane,” Shirina explained, arranging her cards absently, though she could not keep the grin from her face, “The men depicted on the cards are various actors from the Mujikoza Theater. They're actually quite priceless works of art as they are no longer in circulation. A collector's item, if you will.”

 

Aymeric smiled sweetly at her, “You do have fantastic taste in gifts.”

 

Estinien tossed the deck in his direction, sending the beautifully painted boys fluttering about the table. He was mollified when the Warrior and the Lord Commander opted to begin without him and was forced to gather up the cards so that he could catch up.

 

 

 

 

As the night wore on, the mess of bottles quickly amassed, and the game at hand had changed. They were now playing a game of poker, which Shirina was sorely winning by leaps and bounds, a large pile of chips stacked high at her edge of the table.

 

Aymeric tossed down his pair of threes with an exasperated sigh and a befuddled grin, “You have done it again. You win.”

 

“So I have,” she grinned prettily as she reached out to gather a healthy stack of chips towards her.

 

A gloved hand slapped over her wrist and she looked up to see Estinien's scowling face. “Let me see what's up your sleeves, wench,” he grit out, now looming over her, “You must be palming cards.”

 

Aymeric, to her surprise, did not defend her, leading her to believe that he must have been thinking the same.

 

“Ser Aymeric, et tu,” she placed her free hand over her heart, and dared to look aghast, “You wound me. I would never!”

 

When all she received was a graceful shrug of his shoulders and a sheepish grin in return, she rolled her eyes.

 

“If you really feel that way,” Shirina sniffed indignantly. She could not keep up the charade, however, a mischievous smile curling her lips, “But a wager first?”

 

“I'll not entreat with a thief,” Estinien hissed, making a move to grab at her sleeve.

 

Aymeric did speak up now, “Let us hear her out.”

 

The dragoon pinned him with a withering look that could freeze the blood in the veins of his enemies and stop a wyvern in its tracks.

 

The Lord Commander was not impressed.

 

“She obviously has something up her sleeve,” Aymeric began, chuckling at his own joke, and ever the diplomat, “But it must be something interesting if she is willing to put her honor on the line for it.”

 

The Azure Dragoon squinted his eyes at her, then at Aymeric, clearly expecting this to be another joke at his expense. When the Lord Commander simply shrugged his shoulders unknowingly and gazed at the Warrior with a puzzled look, the dragoon agreed.

 

“I would know the terms before accepting,” Aymeric's voice cool and calculating, ever the politician.

 

“Very well, then,” she conceded, pressing a finger to her chest, “If I agree to a thorough search,” she traced the back of her hand along the curve of her breast and down to her hip in a blatantly sexual fashion, “The two of you may have all of my night's winnings and anything that you fancy from my person.”

 

“And if we find no evidence of foul play,” Aymeric mused as he seemed to be catching on to the trick, here, and she gave him a searing wink which colored the tips of his ears.

 

“I gain the right to request three things each from the both of you,” she grinned as though it were a simple enough thing. She motioned with her hand to the two of them, “Requests that you may deny or accept of your own accord.”

 

“It does not seem that you gain much, if we are allowed to deny them,” Estinien huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, but eyeing her curiously nonetheless.

 

She rolled her shoulders in a slight shrug, offering him a cautious, but genuine smile. “I would like to believe that after what the three of us have been through, that I might call you friends, and I have no intentions of forcing the two of you into something that you are unwilling to do. I am only asking that you trust me, as you have in the past.”

 

The dragoon was somewhat taken aback by the sudden expression of fond affection, but frowned hard at her, as though her saying such things left a bitter taste in his mouth, “I suppose that I might trust you. To have a blade at my back, at the very least.”

 

“Very amiable,” the Lord Commander mused, tilting his head graciously in silent acceptance of the statement. It took but a moment for him to return to his shrewd negotiator's tone, his fingers coming together in a steeple and pointing towards her, “Though I suppose there is a catch?”

 

“Naturally,” Shirina smirked, unable to keep the excitement from her face.

 

“Ah, there it is, then,” Estinien rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air, “Always a double edge, you.”

 

Shirina chuckled, “As though you are one to speak.”

 

It was the dragoon's turn to shrug. He heaved a heavy, long suffering sigh and returned to his seat, “Out with it, then.”

 

Shirina lifted her well manicured claws to inspect them dismissively, ignoring the dragoon's ire, “If you should deny my request, then I would receive another. And only once you have accepted and completed three of my requests will you be free of my whims.”

 

Aymeric turned his winter's sky gaze to the dragoon, “I have reason to believe that she may not be bluffing, my friend. This wager seems entirely too well thought out.”

 

“Aye, it does seem to be rehearsed,” Estinien replied, casting a wary eye over the weather-worn Miqo'te. Though she wore very little, he could not help but discern that there were indeed many places she could hide cards and possibly other things. Whether in her sleeves or her boots, he could see, but he got the distinct impression that the lady Warrior was the type of woman that could hide almost anything on her person, should she wish to.

 

“She is clever,” he admitted, finally. He'd once seen her pull a potion from seemingly nowhere once, after all. “And I believe that if she does not want us to catch her out, then we will not.”

 

Aymeric seemed to agree, “Yes, you may be right.”

 

Shirina puffed out her chest, proving that she was very put out at being ganged up on. “Fine, then,” she huffed, throwing herself back into her seat and gathering up the cards on the table, “The two of you can just shut up and keep losing for all I care.” She shuffled the cards angrily and flicked them across the table in such a way that Aymeric and Estinien were forced to catch them.

 

“Oh, poor sweetling,” Estinien crooned mockingly, gathering up the hand he was dealt, “Didn't get your way. Gonna pout about it then?”

 

“Fuck you. You'll be the one pouting once I win the pants off you.”

 

 

 

 

At some point in the night, the dragoon did _indeed_ lose his pants. Though he could not entirely recall _how_ , it was Ser Aymeric that now held his breeches captive, folded neatly beside the small pile of gil at his elbow.

 

“What,” he began, turning bleary eyes up to look between the Lord Commander and the Warrior as though they would have the answer to his question. It appeared that Aymeric was saying something and he had to stare hard at his lips, trying to focus, as he mouthed words that he could only just hear, but not quite understand. He felt as though he were in a cloud.

 

Something registered, because he blinked, long and slow, frowning at his drink as though he only realized it was there just now. He licked his lips, trying to place the flavor. It was incredibly sweet, something familiar, but he could not recall. He wasn't particularly fond of sweet things.

 

“What,” he tried again.

 

Aymeric's eyes were wide, brows knit together in worry, though a small, bemused smile graced his lovely lips. Why was he making that face?

 

Stop making that silly, pretty face. . .

 

Aymeric motioned towards the lady Warrior and he could not help but follow the motion.

 

Shirina was grinning toothily at him from below the visor of _HIS_ helmet – wait wasn't that on his head – too large on her to fit properly. She had to push up the visor again just so that she could see him and her eyes were a bright obsidian and gold. Did her eyes always glitter like that? Her bowstring lips, rouged glossy green, were mouthing something and he had a hard time looking away from them. He wondered if that was why he could make out what she was saying, “Haven't you had enough?”

 

Estinien tilted his head, the table coming up close before he could realize it. The other two jumped to catch him before he could bounce off of its surface, but he managed to correct the movement before tragedy could strike. Stupid Warrior. Stupid Aymeric. He could take care of his own damned head.

 

“Had enough what,” he asked, his own words were slurred and he frowned at that, “What?”

 

Aymeric took a deep breath and pushed it out slowly. His face was a particular shade of scarlet that he'd never seen except for when he was INCREDIBLY drunk.

 

The Lord Commander was half way through another statement when the dragoon blurted, “Yer drrrunk!”

 

Shirina muffled a cackle between her two hands.

 

“I think that _you_ are the one that is _drunk_ , my friend,” Aymeric offered, shaking his head in mild disbelief, “I dare say that you are _crocked.”_

 

The use of the term did not sit well with Estinien, that it sounded odd coming from the otherwise eloquent politician and he had mind to tell him so, “No, _you're_ crocked!”

 

That didn't come out quite right. . .

 

Shirina was giggling helplessly, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

 

“Shut up, woman,” Estinien hissed and a bit of spittle escaped his lips, “That's quite enough of you! Gimme back my helmet,” he swiped at her and she was much further away than he remembered and he tipped.

 

“Oh,” Shirina was reaching to catch him again and she did this time, though it was her own folly, because she slipped out of her own chair after him.

 

He was now slumped on the floor with a very drunk, very _heavy,_ Miqo'te woman leaned against him. She was on her knees over him, helmeted head pitched against his chest and digging into him. She somehow had her fingers curled around the base of his neck in a death grip and her elbow was jammed into the curve of his shoulder. Her other arm was curled under her and she was laughing so hysterically that she couldn't seem to get the strength to push herself up.

 

Also, he was upside down? He looked up the length of her body – or down, as it were – and her breasts were just there. Lovely globes of bronzed flesh, marbled with the pale mottling of old scars, and just barely secured by the difficult looking knot in her leather bandeau. He was just about to protest when he saw the pale flicker of something else in the light. Was that - ?

 

“YOU,” he shouted, reaching up to pluck at a prettily, lewdly painted card from the band of the bandeau under her breast. She squealed in response and very nearly fell into him again as she wiggled from the brush of his fingers, “No, Estinien! I'm ticklish, stop!”

 

The dragoon rolled the Lady Warrior onto the floor – with surprising deftness, considering his inebriated state – below him and straddled her, sitting his full weight on her thighs so that she could not kick. She continued to heave with laughter and tried to slap his hands away as he reached for her leather bound breasts.

 

“Estinien,” Aymeric was on his feet, coming around to ogle at the both of them. He seemed to be taking offense to something, but the Azure Dragoon was nothing if not up to the task, “What are you doing? This is hardly appropriate!”

 

The dragoon grunted as the Warrior bucked up, gasping and giggling as his fingers brushed against the bare skin of her belly every time she flailed at him. She was impossible!

 

“She **was** cheating,” Estinien growled between clenched teeth as he wrestled with her, finally managing to catch both of her hands in one of his own. He tugged her hands up and plucked the card from beneath the band of her bandeau, holding it up triumphantly, “Hah! Little wretch! Show you to cheat me!” He placed a firm hand on her chest, pinning her into the carpet as she fruitlessly reached for the thing. Her arms were much to short to reach. He turned a smug expression to Aymeric, and frowned at the look he received.

 

Aymeric's hand was placed firmly over his lips, one hand curled around his belly, and his face was turning a shade of crimson that could only be described as rolanberry. There was a fine tremor going through him and Estinien could only tilt his head in puzzlement. He waved the card as though it would speak for him.

 

Aymeric swiped his eyes down at the miqo'te he was holding captive.

 

The dragoon looked down at his hand, the one smothered firmly between Shirina's generous breasts, and his eyes widened in realization.

 

Oh. Fuck.

 

“I-uh!” He pushed himself away from the miqo'te, easily putting distance between them by peddling back with his hands. He made to stand and howled when he smacked the back of his head into the table he'd just crawled under. He dropped the card upon the floor and swallowed hard.

 

Shirina lost it all over again as he expleted colorfully, completely oblivious now to the room's other occupants.

 

“Aym-! -?,” Estinien held the back of his head and looked up at the Lord Commander from below his bangs, his eyes wide with terror at what the other might say or do, “I didn't mean to- I!” He was stuttering and stumbling over his words and he couldn't seem to find the right ones to placate the man.

 

Aymeric was still trembling and was beginning to turn a steady shade of purple. He was so angry that he was speechless. The Azure Dragoon had never seen him so angry.

 

“Aymeric, I am _so_ sorry,” the dragoon reached out unhelpfully, his voice low and even, placating as though faced down with a deadly animal.

 

The Lord Commander just _exploded._

 

It reminded Estinien of the time that a bombling had wandered too close and had gone off, though not nearly so violent or as unpleasant.

 

Aymeric slipped to his knees, knelt on the ground, hands curled over the top of his head, face flushed red and grinning from ear to ear and _laughed._ Laughed _so_ hard, in fact, that tears streamed steadily from the corners of his eyes. He laughed _long_ and _hard_ and from his _belly,_ so manically that the dragoon momentarily feared for the man's sanity.

 

He could only look on with an emotion like terror mingled with confusion written clearly over his face as he watched the Lady Warrior and the **Lord Commander** _giggle_ senselessly at a joke that he clearly did not understand. He felt very much now that _**he**_ was the punchline of this joke and did not much like it.

 

“What is so funny, then,” he was angry now and he crawled from beneath the table to shake Aymeric hard by the shoulders, “Some trick you've played on me? Stop laughing this instant and explain yourself, you bloody fool!”

 

“I-I-I,” Aymeric was breathless and wheezing as he tried to get a hold on himself. It took him a long time and a few more violent shakes before he was able to get another word out, “Not you!”

 

“What, then,” he was leveling the Lord Commander with his steeliest gaze, which seemed to temper him – if only slightly.

 

Aymeric slowly sobered, bringing the knuckles of his long fingers to wipe the tears from his lashes before properly looking at the dragoon for the first time since he arrived, “I would never play tricks on you, my friend.”

 

“Then what in the seven hells _are_ you laughing at,” Estinien gritted.

 

“I am just,” Aymeric sighed so heavily, so wistfully, so sweetly that it almost took the breath from his lungs. He just smiled and leaned forward, his voice coming out low and blissful and almost a whisper against his lip in a way that curled Estinien's toes in his boots, “I am just _so_ happy that you are **home** and to see you _enjoying_ yourself I've not seen you smile that way since we were but some twenty summers.”

 

It was the dragoon's turn to color scarlet and he felt the flush bloom on his cheeks and grow out to his ears. Things low in his belly, set aside but not forgotten in his travels, stirred for the first time in what felt like years. It had only been a matter of months since his departure from Ishgard, but it hard worn on him despite.

 

 

“Aymeric,” he softened, his anger quickly forgotten in the wake of such blatant sincerity, “I wa-!”

 

And before Estinien could say more, the Lord Commander pressed his delicately curved lips to his own. He kissed him long and deep, seeking entry and gaining it, if only because the dragoon was powerless to stop him. It wasn't even that it was unpleasant, just _unexpected_.

 

After a long, heart pounding moment, Aymeric retreated, resting his forehead against the dragoon's and lightly panting for breath. “Forgive me,” he was saying, turning his eyes away so that they were shyly hidden beneath his lovely, dark lashes, “I was just so pleased to see you home and happy.” He sighed and began to pull away, “Pray forgive me, it was presumptuous to believe that you might still-.”

 

It was Aymeric's turn, now, to be hushed as Estinien took his face into his hands and returned the kiss with a fervor and passion that could only be kindled by some months of travel in far away places, wondering after his old lover and wishing that he could return. In that moment he expressed that his heart, in his absence, had indeed grown fonder. His tongue probed shyly into his hot mouth and Aymeric answered by curling his own tongue to greet it, warm and familiar as only an old friend and lover could.

 

Aymeric's face was, once again, wet with tears when they were finally able to tear away from each other. The dragoon lovingly brushed a thumb along one of the tear tracks, gathering a droplet and bringing it to his lips, “I have been wanting to return for so long, but I thought that,” he nodded his head back towards the now quiet miqo'te, his voice just above a conspiratorial mummer, “I mean, what about Shirina? Are you not, _together_ now? I was very certain. . .”

 

Aymeric let out a breath that was more laugh than exhalation, as he looked passed Estinien's shoulder and grinned, “Shirina is. . .”

 

“I could watch this _all_ day,” was the slow, purred response he received and it startled the dragoon into turning to gaze at her, his unsteadiness nearly taking the two of them to the ground.

 

She was rolled over onto her belly and stretched languidly across the carpeted floor. She was resting her chin on the crown of his discarded helmet – just between its horns, arms curled around it lovingly, and her tail curled and flicked lazily behind her. The half-lidded gaze that she blinked slowly at the two of them spoke only of deep-seated satisfaction – and no little drunkenness, and the little smirk that curled her lips was pure sex, “I love to see Aymeric happy.” She rolled slowly onto her back, curling her head back so that she never took her eyes from them. She motioned with her hands before clasping the helmet comfortably over her stomach, “And you make Aymeric happy.” Her shoulders lifted in a lazy shrug, clearly comfortable with her position, “And I share well.”

 

“She certainly does indeed,” Aymeric breathed, looking over the woman with wistfully hungry eyes. He startled slightly and dared to look sheepish as Estinien turned a confused frown his way, though his cheeks were still flushed and his eyes were still hazed with lust, “And I have missed you terribly.”

 

“He never shuts up about you,” Shirina helped, “Is more accurate.”

 

“Ah, yes,” he coughed into his hand, covering his embarrassment with a lightly balled fist, “Yes, that may be true,” he admitted finally. The shy little smile on his face was something else and Estinien wanted to kiss him again, but there was still this whole matter of Shirina.

 

“So,” the dragoon began, “If I were to gather him up in my arms and take him upstairs,” one of Shirina's ears flicked back to listen, though her eyes were now closed, “To do unspeakable things that would make even the Fury blush,” she bit her lip and hummed happily, “You would do or say **nothing** to stop me?”

 

Shirina's ears flicked back in thought, before she flipped back onto her belly, this time spreading her arms and legs wide and letting his helm roll away from her. Her voice, when it came, was spoken mostly into the floor, “I mean, not _nothing_.” Her lips curled open into a wide yawn that set her stretching and shivering, “I _might_ have followed along so that I could welcome you home _myself_. But, alas, I am _very_ drunk and this floor is _very_ comfortable,” she nuzzled the carpet and caressed her fingers over its fibers to make her point, “And until morning _this_ is my home. _This_ is where I live now.”

 

She finally turned a sleepy grin their way, waving her hand vaguely, voice deep and purring from exhaustion and drink, “Go! Have fun with our valiant, beautiful, _delicious_ Lord Commander.” She was yawning again, but she was limp and practically melting into the carpet, her voice muffled into its softness, “I'll join you in the morning.”

 

Estinien took her on her word, quickly pulling Aymeric to his feet, which almost caused the two of them to topple over in their own stupor. The Lord Commander shrieked happily and held on for dear life, his fingers were almost dragging across the floor, being at least as tall as the Azure Dragoon, if not taller. He even made it a few steps before stumbling back to his knees.

 

Right, he was terribly drunk. In all of the fuss, he'd just about forgotten.

 

“I could carry you, perhaps,” Aymeric wrinkled his nose, on his feet now and amused at the disgruntled expression, “Or I could simply walk. I've had not nearly as much to drink as the two of you.”

 

“I'll not be carried like some cripple,” was the response he received, “Go on! Walk, then!” He smacked the Lord Commander on his backside, his good spirits returning instantly at the prospect of being alone with the knight. “I'll stumble my way along after I've relieved myself.”

 

Aymeric rolled his eyes and went along, tossing a snarky, “Not in the house, if you please,” over his shoulder.

 

“I am no barbarian!”

 

The door to the dining hall clicked shut and Estinien immediately turned to Shirina. He was experiencing a moment of sober clarity that he meant not to waste.

 

“Woman,” he inquired.

 

“Hmm,” she lazily rolled her eyes in his general direction, though they did not focus on him.

 

“You'll not regret this in the morning,” he needled, less asking and more telling.

 

“You will,” was her drunken wisdom, “If you do not follow and ravish him.”

 

He sniggered, “I just may, though I do not wish to be an adulterer on top of everything else I've been accused of in recent months.”

 

She sighed heavily and wearily pushed herself to her knees, then shuffled on them towards him.

 

He eyed her suspiciously as she bumbled closer, catching her when she nearly fell into his lap. He gentled as he watched her eyes flutter in some semblance of half-consciousness, “I will not take this from the two of you.”

 

“I know that it was you,” she answered, a surprising clarity to her voice and countenance as she leveled her dark and light gaze with his from below heavy lashes, “I know that you were the one to sabotage the cannon at Castrum Abania.” She nodded her head towards the door, “If that cannon had fired, we would have sustained so many more losses. Losses that we would not be able to recover from. You gave those men and women hope, Estinien. If it were not for you, we would not have been able to make the final push into the Lochs and eventually to Zenos.” She traced her hand over her heart, her eyes misty, “When I heard the reports that a white haired dragoon had been spotted at the sight, I _knew_ it was you. _We_ knew it was you. It was no jest when I said that Aymeric never stopped talking about you. It was all he good do to remain at his post, to command the Ishgardian forces, and not to chase after you.” She gripped his shoulders, shaking him, “ _I_ would not have made it out without that hope, Estinien. I had to believe that once it was through, that I would be able to return you to him. I owe my life to you for what you did that day. I owe you my life for giving me that drive.”

 

Estinien was speechless. In the year he had known the Lady Warrior he had not heard her speak so plainly and so openly as tonight. She had always been quiet, offering a jest or confirmation, sometimes delivering grave or important news, but never in so many words. And here she was, extolling _his_ exploits. And so sincerely grateful that it made his heart ache. After all she had done for Ishgard and the city-states and the people of Dhoma and Ala Mhigo. For what she had done for _him_. She was the reason – well, she and Alphinaud – for his continued existence.

 

“I am undeserving of this high praise,” he declared, feeling lower than the Brume in that moment, “I did no thing worthy of this-this-!” He motioned unhelpfully. At a loss for words in the face of such open thanks.

 

“You silly, fool man,” she chided, leaning her forehead on his shoulder, “Can you truly tell me,” she bumped her head against his cheek, “That all you have done was not for him?”

 

He balked, nearly tossing her away from her. She slanted a knowing glimpse his way, “You cannot fool me, ornery old coot. You are more than the sum of your parts, though you are not able to see it yet. I can see it. Aymeric can see it. That you are actually more self-less than you play at. That your heart is truly good.”

 

He swayed, as though a great weight had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders and he did not know, now, how to walk without it.

 

“I-I will not deny it,” he conceded, suddenly very aware that the Warrior of Light was not only strong of body and will, but, was graced with such wisdom that could only come from a life of too much toil and loss. In that moment he saw how fragile a position she was in, all eyes on her as she conquered each foe at the behest of those that would call themselves ally. He noted the world-weariness in her tired eyes and felt a kinship he had not expected, though he, too, had once been a fabled hero. She was so small a thing and she held the weight of expectation from the Eorzean Alliance and the hopes of the Liberated on her shoulders. He had been in her shoes and he did not envy her position.

 

She had Aymeric's love, and though she should – _rightfully –_ be selfish and keep that one thing for herself, she would not. She would share the Lord Commander's affections with him. With the man that had once been in her place. With the man that had once loved him and maybe still did.

 

“Good,” and just like that, the spell was broken. She returned to her drunken stupor, slurring and using him as an anchor to stumble to her feet, “Help me t' tha' couch, will ye?”

 

He allowed her to lean on him as he ushered her to the settee, though he did not let her in on his revelations, “Aye, drunk hag, lets get you to bed before you make a bigger fool of yourself.”

 

She was babbling as he settled her down, “I jus' wan' you t' make Aym'ric happy. . . I may no' always be aroun' t' do it.”

 

“You'll live longer than the rest of us,” he muttered, tucking a heavy fur throw around her so that she wouldn't freeze to death, “You and the wamouras.”

 

“I kno' tha' you 'ave no love fer me, 'Stinien. . . but I-”

 

He rolled his eyes and patted her shoulder – a bit harder than was necessary, “Now, go to sleep before you say something you'll regret,” but he dithered for a moment longer, gazing down at her. She whimpered as she began the slow slip into a fitful slumber, no doubt the drink already taking its toll on her. He took a deep breath and quickly pecked her forehead, “Do not claim to know my heart, daft old bird. I owe you much and more for what you have done for us. I- _we_ will see you in the morning.”

 

She hummed happily as he shut the door behind him, the final tugs of sleep pulling her down into its sweet embrace.

 

 


	2. Friendly Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estinien makes his way to Aymeric's bedroom and finds that he is more nervous than he expected.

Estinien shed his boots on the landing so as not to disturb the other occupants of the house. How they'd gotten his pants _off_ with them still _on_ was a mystery for the morning, but at least it made things easier. He quietly padded down the hall, pulling his gambeson over his head and vaguely recalling that he had come here in his plate, but decided it was best to just leave the mystery of his vanishing equipment for another time. He was growing increasingly aware that he was still very inebriated and such thoughts would only further confuse his drink addled brain.

 

He was also aware that he was incredibly warm, his skin already beginning to break out in a light sweat and his heart was pounding hard in his ears. His head was swimming and he couldn't stop the idea that something was terribly wrong with this whole situation from flitting through his thoughts.

 

Was this really alright?

 

They were all incredibly drunk and maybe things had just gotten a little out of hand? Maybe the drink had just triggered some sense of nostalgia in Aymeric? And maybe Shirina agreed because she was already half asleep at that point?

 

But the memory of Aymeric's gentle smile settled some of the turmoil of these thoughts. Aymeric had smiled so genuinely. Had shed tears of happiness at seeing him again? Could that have really just been the drink?

 

And that kiss. . .

 

He hesitantly drew himself towards the heavy wooden door, his fingers tentatively curling over the cool brass of the elegantly curved handle, and he pushed.

 

“Estinien,” Aymeric's bleary eyes rolled over him as he stepped in and gently shut the door behind him, questioning, voice surprisingly quiet, even in the stillness of the rest of the house.

 

Aymeric was already curled beneath the duvet on his bed, his back to the door and his head leaned back against his pillow so that he could peer at him from the corners of his midnight eyes. His short, touchably soft, ebony locks curled haphazardly around his face and framed his pale face. The stark contrast of dark against light gave his skin an almost ethereal quality, though it may have also been the moonlight spilling from the window. His smooth, thin lips were quirked into a coy smile. It was as equally enticing as it was heart stopping.

 

Estinien licked his lips, trying to wet them, but his mouth was suddenly dry and it was suddenly very hard to breath past the lump in his throat. He decided to have a look around the room, hoping that – like the heavy wooden door at his back – it would help to ground him.

 

The bed, a sturdy four poster draped in curtains tied back with silken cords and heavy velveteen linens in slate gray and brilliant royal blues, was out because the object of his current distress and desire was very nearly leering at him from his perch there.

 

His attention was drawn to the dim light of a dying flame in the hearth in the far corner, crackling comfortably and occasionally popping little embers that he followed with tired eyes. He could easily feel its heat, emanating through the room as it was, and allowed himself a few breaths to allow the waning warmth to burn away the nip on his skin from the cold of the hall.

 

“Estinien,” he heard the shift of cloth and Aymeric's voice was a little bit louder, though – thankfully – not any closer. He wasn't entirely sure that he wouldn't bolt out the door if Aymeric did decide to approach. It was a silly thing, he knew, having known this man for the better part of his life and knowing that he was kind and good and would care for him should he ask for it. Silly because he'd never done anything but care for him over the years.

 

Maybe that was the problem, though?

 

Estinien was not kind or good and he was selfish and callous, though he had hoped to over come some of that in his absence. He was pretty sure nothing had changed, if he was considering climbing into bed with his old friend, who was drunk, and knowing that his friend's lover lay asleep downstairs in a drunken haze. It would certainly not be the first time he'd taken a tumble with someone that would regret him in the morning, after a night like this, and it probably wouldn't be the last, if he was being honest with himself.

 

This was Aymeric, though, and he never seemed to regret their times together. They had often been drunk or sleep-deprived or high and delirious from the rush of adrenaline that followed a battle. . .

 

The dragoon's eyes caught the glint of metal from the corner of his eye.

 

Aymeric's armor was placed on its stand, his clothing folded neatly on his dresser, and Estinien could not stop the slight hitch in his breath as he realized that Aymeric was naked under there and that he stood before him in only his small clothes.

 

“Estinien,” Aymeric's voice was rough with sleep, or maybe just drink, as he leveled his gaze on him. A smile graced his lips as he peeled back the duvet and patted the mattress beside him, wiggling closer to the wall to let him in. The dragoon was all too pleased to be distracted from his melancholy, fast as he could to tear off his small clothes, and silently praising the Fury that the little witch downstairs had cheated his armor from him in their little game.

 

He was struck with the suspicion that this had been the plan all the while, when he was tugged by the forearm into the bed.

 

The Lord Commander threw the duvet and himself over him, clamping his lips firmly on his and carding his long, slender fingers through his hair. Estinien's hands held tightly to Aymeric as they kissed, wet and hot and tongues dancing, though their awkward fumbling reminded him of their first few times together.

 

Aymeric was already making the slow, dizzying descent to his nethers and he could not stand the thought that they must hurry, especially now. Had it really been so long that they had forgotten how to touch each other tenderly? To take their time and enjoy the moment as they had in their younger years?

 

“Wait! Stop! Wait,” Estinien panted frantically, tugging at Aymeric's shoulders to bring him back up. The wintry eyed elezen gave him such a pained look that he almost tugged him back in, but he did not want it this way. Not like the frantic, ignorant boys they had once been. Those innocent boys that were tainted by the bitterness of war and politics and grew distant and apart. His heart couldn't stand it.

 

“Lets take our time,” his voice was hoarse as he traced his calloused knuckles, gently as he was capable, along Aymeric's cheek. He breathed relief as the hurt in the Lord Commander's expression melted into amused consternation and he leaned into the touch and kissed his palm.

 

“As you like,” Aymeric granted, easing back so that he was not so much in his space. He sat, poised and damnably dignified, on the dragoon's thighs, both painfully aware of the evidence of their excitement, “Do you wish to romance me, then?” He raised a slender brow in amusement.

 

Estinien gazed upon his ivory skin, scarred and lovely from the battles he had hard won. The Dragonsong War had taken its toll on all of them, of course, but Aymeric had suffered particularly, having to fend for his life from his own people. First at the Vault, at the hands of the Heaven's Ward and his own father, and then he learned of the assassination attempt from Lucia some weeks after it happened. He tentatively traced the smooth scar between two ribs, hating that he could not have been there to care for him in that moment, to offer him some comfort. Fucking Nidhogg. . .

 

Aymeric made a pleased sound that drew him back to the present.

 

“Is that so out of character,” the dragoon huffed teasingly, trying to keep himself from sinking into his own head again.

 

“Yes,” was the honest answer, but Aymeric twined his fingers with the hand on his chest, “But I am well equipped to handle change.”

 

A bitter snort, “Just so.”

 

“Mmh, that is a bit better,” Aymeric grazed over his knuckles with a thumb, guiding the hand over the scar, then to another, “I always did enjoy your saccharine sarcasm over your attempts at flowery romanticism.”

 

“I am not incapable,” the dragoon grumbled, allowing himself to be led, enjoying the sensation of rough over smooth skin against his calloused fingers. He curled his free hand behind his head, settling into the mattress, the familiar candor easing the tension from his muscles by fractions.

 

“It does not suit you,” Aymeric chided, “I like you honest.”

 

“I could make _you_ honest,” he bucked his hips and laughed when Aymeric's breath hitched in his throat and his lashes fluttered briefly closed at the brush of their erections, though he was not unaffected. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and ground them together with a bit more purpose, “Nothing more honest than this.” His voice was almost raw with need and he didn't mind, seeing the way Aymeric's head lolled, giving him a better view of that long, lovely neck, and shuddered deliciously, was taking the edge off of his previous misgivings.

 

He skimmed a thumb along the tissue of a large, old, burn scar, the one he'd gotten from their first dragon, and followed it along the curve of his hip, letting it dip a teasing fraction lower. He folded his hand around it and tugged, beckoning Aymeric closer.

 

The Lord Commander obliged, leaning forward and claiming his lips once more. This kiss was sweet, almost chaste, but for its intent. Estinien breathed deep of the Lord Commander, committing the taste of his mouth and the small happy hum he kept making to memory.

 

Aymeric's fingers cupped his cheeks, thumbing over his cheek bones, tenderly coaxing him to relax beneath his grasp. After a breathless moment, Estinien tentatively retreated, closing his eyes beneath the ministrations of his lover.

 

“I do not know if it is the blame of the drink or of the mattress, or the combination of two infuriating personages taking all of my coin,” the dragoon sighed, settling himself into the mattress, his face curling into a frown, “Or perhaps nerves,” he whispered guiltily, before continuing to stroke over the curve of Aymeric's hip, “But I have little energy for anything vigorous.” It was a question in his eyes, as he opened them to peak up at his lover, taking in the serene smile upon the knight's lips with a huff of relief.

 

Aymeric released a breathless chuckle as he graced a thumb over one of the dragoon's thick eyebrows, earning himself a pleased grumble. He did the same with the other and the dragoon's face was melting from a plagued frown to something very near peaceful, though the corner of his mouth kept twitching up into a small ghost of a smile.

 

“If you mean to put me to sleep,” his lips barely moved as he enjoyed the slow circles the knight was rubbing into his temples, easing the strains from his face with each caress, “Then you have found a divine method.”

 

“Mmh, I think that sleep would be better for the both of us right now,” the Lord Commander hummed, placing small kisses to his cheeks and temples, the barest whisper of lips over skin, “Something I learned from Shirina. . .”

 

“So she is capable of being gentle,” a little breathy laugh, “I had wondered.”

 

Aymeric smiled despite himself, moving on to rub his thumbs and forefingers over the dragoon's forehead, then to the crown, massaging with the tips of his fingers and the light grazing of his nails, “She does so hate to see me frown, so she smooths the worries from my face, just like this. Has it worked, then?”

 

“Like a charm,” the dragoon tried to stifle a yawn, but failed, his hand falling limply to his side, tips just barely reaching the Lord Commander's thigh. He settled his hand there and his eyes fluttered beneath their lids as sleep slowly rose up to take him. His voice was almost gone, “I wanted to, you know.”

 

“Rest for now. There will be time for carnal pleasures later,” Aymeric murmured against his skin, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and extricating himself from the dragoon's thighs with a small groan.

 

The low rumbling in the dragoon's chest signaled that sleep had won. Aymeric curled an arm around his waste and the dragoon reflexively pressed a hand against the knight's back, pulling him to curve against his hip. The knight twined a leg around the other's, pulling the blankets tighter around as he nestled his head against the dragoon's shoulder. The dragoon's thumb smoothed along his spine for a few, lazy, moments, before coming to rest, hand falling away to rest on the mattress below.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been written and rewritten a few times and I'm still not 100% sure I'm happy with it, but here it is. The next chapter will have some wonderful Aymeric/Estinien loving. Look forward to it~!


	3. Friendly Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric and Estinien get frisky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be edited at some point, but I wanted to finally post it as its been sitting in open office waiting to get posted.

Estinien could not recall a time that he had slept without dreaming. It was surprisingly pleasant, just drifting off to sleep, then waking again a time later. He felt rested and warm and fantastically comfortable. He'd nearly forgotten where he was, as his eyes fluttered open to the first few rays of daylight streaming through the far window, but the warmth at his hip shuffled and groaned and he could only smile. Ah, yes. He was at Aymeric's. Home again in Ishgard, land of his birth.

 

He rolled onto his side, sidling in to spoon the back of the Lord Commander's body and tugging him closer to him so that he could press as much of his skin to Aymeric's. He received a happy sigh in return and a smile tugged at the corners of his tired mouth.

 

Aymeric was curled tightly into his fur duvet, buried up to his neck and his face nestled into the pillow as though he were petulantly hiding from the day. There was a pout on his silken lips that ruined the otherwise serene grace of his countenance. Estinien noticed, however, that one of his long, delicately pointed ears was poking prominently from the hide-hole Aymeric was sequestered into.

 

Estinien's contented little smile curved to something wicked as an idea crossed his tired mind. He rearranged himself so that he could prop an arm under his head, then leaned over to kiss the back of the Knight's ear. This drew a grumbling snort from Aymeric's lips, a temporary discomfort as he fought to stay under the magic of sleep, but as the dragoon slipped his tongue from between his lips and lathed it over the shell of his ear, he was unable to keep up the grouching. A breathless sigh escaped his lips as Estinien worked his tongue to the tip, grazing teeth.

 

“Relentless,” Aymeric graveled, wiggling his hips back teasingly against the dragoon's morning wood. “Won't even let an over worked politician get his sleep.” He was smiling now, however, enjoying the growling, lustful sounds that were emitting from Estinien's throat.

 

“Rest is for the weak,” he jested, dipping down to trace his lips along the curve of Aymeric's cheek, along his jaw, then down to his neck.

 

“I recall that you fell asleep before me. Snoring like a babe in his cradle,” the Lord Commander scrunched his nose in amusement, nuzzling his pillow as he tilted his head so that Estinien could get better access to his neck. The morning chill was slipping in to tickle his warm, flushed skin, but Estinien slowed its assault by rolling them onto his belly, Estinien pressed in a long line against his back, shielding him with the furnace of his skin.

 

“Are you alright to,” he trailed off, nibbling the hallow of his throat and tracing slow circles along his hip, along that old burn scar, the physical reminder of their first meeting. It was a familiar old gesture and it filled his breast with fondness fit to burst.

 

Aymeric nodded minutely, giving in to his gentle teeth and pressing back against him with no true sense of urgency. Even with the evident arousal, he loved the idea of them making slow, lazy, love to each other. They were able to take their time, so why not?

 

“Have you any aids,” Estinien breathed against his skin, voice deep with arousal, on the edge of growling.

 

Aymeric silently nodded again, slipping a hand from beneath him to point at the side table, “In the drawer. The clear bottle.” He very nearly whined when the weight of Estinien against his back retreated, shivering as the cold bit at his skin.

 

Estinien was only distantly amused to see all of the exotic looking bottles in the drawer, an array of foil wrapped lambskins, and some smoothly carved wooden implements that he was not familiar with. He nabbed the clear bottle, as directed, and two of the lambskins, before returning to press himself back against his lover. He squawked at the slight chill, but settled himself in nonetheless, “I have never met a man that could catch a chill quick as you.”

 

“I blame the cold blooded nature of my _biological_ father,” Aymeric sighed, realizing the terrible joke for what it was, and turning his face into the pillow to hide his shame.

 

“That was just awful,” Estinien snickered against his ear, fumbling with the bottle and its cork. He cursed softly, before setting the foils on the pillow beside Aymeric's head, “Hold those.” Aymeric turned his cool eyes to the foils, then to Estinien, mumbling into the thick down, “I would be insulted if the gesture were not so sweet. We've never used them before. . .”

 

“Quicker clean up that way. I'll save you the joke of not knowing where I've been,” Aymeric rolled his eyes as the dragoon finally wrestled the cork from the neck of the bottle, pouring a bit into his hands and spilling a drop or two on the Lord Commander's back. He shivered against the cold liquid as Estinien tucked the open bottle into his hand, trailing lips along his shoulder, “Keep it warm, then.”

 

He heard Estinien rub his slicked hands together, and then felt a gently probing finger.

 

“Right into it, then,” Aymeric chuckled, shifting his hips slightly until he was comfortable, before trying to relax himself again, “No foreplay?”

 

“I'm getting to it, Ser Impatient,” Estinien teased, using his oil slicked hand to pull his hips up just so and then slipping that hand below to grip the knight's arousal. All protests melted from his lips as the wet, calloused fingers folded in around him, lightly smoothing along the tender flesh so that it was well moistened. The dragoon found a surer grip on him, curling his thumb around the crown of its head and his fore and middle fingers around its underside, slowly pumping and milking the head of his cock. Aymeric released a low sound of wonder, a long 'oh' of a half-forgotten touch found anew. The dragoon remembered how he like it, and somehow, he should not have been surprised. The entirety of Estinien's former life as Azure Dragoon was based on instinct and muscle memory. As the cobwebs were slowly winding in his head, he felt a sharp pressure and one long finger was inside of him, almost painlessly. It was still a tight fit, but he winced only slightly as the dragoon slowly worked the digit in and out, a rhythm slow and torturous as the hand on his cock, and eased his hurt with practiced tenderness.

 

The dragoon's slow pace quickened a spell, curling the rest of his fingers to include his shaft in his ministrations, pumping them along while maintaining a firm, but comfortable grip on the head with thumb and forefinger. Aymeric's breathless sighs were like music to his ears as he experimented with slow, tentative touches and slightly rougher ones, making the knight whisper harshly when something he particularly liked tore a swear from his beautiful lips. And when Aymeric swore particularly colorfully, he slipped another finger in, easing the tensions with the gentle brush of his tips to his hot core, then flexing them apart to slowly open him.

 

Aymeric's hands held handfuls of the sheets below him, tossing his head back when something felt good, and burying his face in the downy pillow when something was just too much and he felt he had to muffle his breathy cries, always considerate of those that kept his house, surely still asleep if the gentle rays just breaking through the curtains were any indication. The only pain he felt was the momentary discomfort at the sharp pull of another finger into him, but it was quickly lost to another wave of arousal from the hand on his cock.

 

“E-estinien,” he whimpered, simultaneously wanting to press forward and back.

 

“Not just yet,” the dragoon snickered near his ear as he curled his fingers against his prostate to silence the protest and draw another colorful obscenity to the knight's lips. “You've learned quite a few things,” he nipped at his shoulder and grinned into his skin, “From the little lioness you've been keeping, haven't you.”

 

“Ah, y-yes,” and Estinien wasn't sure if it was a confirmation or a cry of pleasure until he struggled down a hard swallow and continued, “She is – ah! Yes! - an _astute_ teacher. . .” Any further explanations were quickly strangled down by a rather loud cry of desperation as the dragoon bore down on his sweet spot, wiggling his now three fingers to loosen him further. Estinien noticed that the mention of the little woman seemed to hitch the knight's breath in his throat and that curled a mischievous smile to his lips. That could be interesting. . .

 

“From the sounds of it,” he continued his teasing, a steady pumping rhythm on his cock, down as he pressed his fingers down, then up as he pulled them out and it was causing the Lord Commander to mewl so deliciously that he almost considered just going for it. Not yet, not yet. He wanted this moment to last and he wanted to drive the older man to the very edge, “She might like to see you like this.”

 

Aymeric let out a muffled, startled cry at his words, burying his face into the pillow and hugging it to him. The color of his face was scarlet and it now pulled to the tips of his ears and down the back of his neck. Estinien grinned and nibbled at the pointed tip of that rose colored ear.

 

“Oh, like that thought, don't you,” his voice was now a harsh, growling whisper against the Lord Commander's ear, “She's turned you into quite the pervert, hasn't she?”

 

“N-no, I-I'm, nnh!,” was all he got as he surged his fingers forward and squeezed them tight against his prostate, relentlessly teasing it with the brushing of one finger after another in a constant rhythm.

 

“Why don't you call for her,” he hissed, and he knew he was being cruel, but the dirty talk seemed to be working for the Lord Commander, “Or maybe if I can make you scream. . .?”

 

His hand on the knight's shaft was relentless and the constant pressure to that sweet, hot spot deep inside him left him quivering and whimpering, but still he kept his face buried into the pillow, only coming up briefly for air before retreating again. He could see the embarrassment on his face when he did and Estinien almost felt bad except that Aymeric was now rocking his hips almost frantically between his hands. Seeing the Lord Commander so wantonly needy was making his own head hazy and he considered just taking him there, but the soft scratch of something outside of the door brought his attentions to it.

 

Aymeric groaned in frustration as his hands momentarily hesitated, but he continued upon realizing that the Lord Commander had not heard the sound.

 

Was it her? Had she heard some sound and come to look in, or? No, she had been well and truly tossed the night before and he did not expect that she would wake til at-least noon. It was probably Banshee, the vicious little harridan, coming to wake her master for her breakfast, and he was well pleased to have the door firmly shut between the two of them. She'd probably think he was attacking Aymeric and would maul him to death.

 

He snorted at the thought, which caused Aymeric to finally turn a small frown at him, “A-am I s-so fu-nn-y?”

 

“Mmh, not you,” the dragoon leaned down to kiss him senseless, biting at his lower lip and dancing his tongue along with the knight's. This seemed to placate him.

 

He redoubled his efforts, his wrist beginning to ache as he played the Lord Commander's body like some stringed instrument, tuning the pitch higher and higher, but listening carefully for any further sound from outside the door. Maybe it was just the house settling into its foundations.

 

“Is something the matter,” Aymeric breathed, frustrated at the dragoon's lack of focus, turning his eyes up at the dragoon, “You seem distracted.”

 

“I thought I heard something,” Estinien shrugged, “It could have been anything.” He returned to fingering the Lord Commander's tight ass, and delighted in another breathless sigh of satisfaction as the movement picked up again.

 

“It may have been my man,” Aymeric murmured, cooling a touch, though he was still wound tighter than a spring waiting to snap, “Or Shirina. . . She wakes about this time.” Estinien hesitated again, and Aymeric groaned, “Please, do not let that stop you.” His voice was almost whining and it brought the dragoon's full attentions back to him. He was speaking again, which meant he wasn't doing his job.

 

Estinien sniggered, settling his full weight back against the Lord Commander as he continued to complain, “Making me wait all this time,” he was mumbling into the pillow now, actually grumbling at him as he removed his fingers with a soft squelch and a whimper at their loss. Estinien snatched up the little bottle from Aymeric's hand and poured the, now warmer, oils over his hands. He rubbed them together again, then shoved four of his fingers back in without ceremony. Aymeric's eyes shot open and the gasp of pleasure and pain caught in his throat.

 

“Th- that was-,” Aymeric whined, but a smile warmed his voice. He just barely remembered the lambskins and passed him one. He heard the soft crinkle of the foil and watched over his shoulder in earnest pleasure as the dragoon slipped the skin over his member and teased his slicked hand over himself.

 

“I am also a pain in the ass,” he chuckled as he shifted behind the Lord Commander. He carefully pulled his fingers away and placed a steadying hand on Aymeric's hip, holding his cock in his hand and brushing it teasingly along his rim.

 

“Y-yes, I remember,” Aymeric chuckled, twining his fingers with the hand on his hip, “I believe I am as ready as I can be. . . You've seen well to that.”

 

Aymeric's eyes squeezed tightly shut as he was stretched, just this side of painful and almost too much, but he bore the pain with a strained whimper, knowing that it would pay off in the end.

 

Estinien almost couldn't keep himself from just shoving himself in, as he had in their younger years, and Aymeric was so tight and it felt fantastic, but he managed to keep himself in check. They had time for that, time to go slow, for once. He kept his lips pursed tightly as he pressed deeper, then panted hard as he hilted inside of him.

 

Aymeric was panting now, too, breath ragged and almost pained, but he laughed a little to ease the tension. “How did we ever do this before,” he gasped, resting his forehead against his forearm, “Without oils and patience?”

 

“Hard, cursing, sore, and bowlegged the next day,” Estinien chuckled, giving an experimental tug of his hips. Aymeric's breath rushed out with an 'oof' and he squeezed his hand, begging without words for a moment longer. Estinien obliged and settled onto his heels, easing the pressure just a pinch. He brushed his free hand to smooth between the knight's shoulder blades, pressing gently down the length of his spine.

 

“Mmh, that helps,” Aymeric sighed, easing by degrees beneath his hand. Estinien squeezed his hand gently, then untangled his fingers from Aymeric's. He leaned heavily into Aymeric, a little whine escaping his lips as he pressed deeper again, but smoothed the both of his hands heavily down his back again. He reeled his hips back with tender care, then pressed back as he eased his hands back up his spine.

 

“Tha-t's nice,” Aymeric murmured, curling his fingers into the sheets bellow and his knees further beneath him, “That's very nice.”

 

“You alright now,” Estinien murmured, peppering kisses across his shoulders and neck.

 

“Mmhmm,” Aymeric hummed, rocking experimentally back against him, “Mmh, yes, I think I am alright. Gently now. . .”

 

And Estinien did as he was told, rocking gently forward and back, easing them into a slow, lazy rhythm that left both of them sighing and whispering praise.

 

It took an eternity and at some point, Aymeric had growled at him to take a quicker pace, unable to do much on his own, trapped beneath the dragoon as he was.

 

“Please,” Aymeric finally whined, “I am fine now, please. . .?”

 

“Please what,” Estinien breathed into his skin, perfectly content to continue his lazy torture if only Aymeric would keep making those small breathless noises for him. He brushed his lips along the Lord Commander's cheek and smiled sweetly.

 

“Please,” Aymeric began, his cheeks turning a shade of rolanberry that made Estinien grin, but his voice went a few octaves deeper as he begged, “P-please fuck me. I **want** you to _fuck_ me, Estinien.”

 

“You are so beautiful when you beg,” Estinien crooned, but dragged himself away from the warm comfort of his partner's back. He tugged at Aymeric's hips as he shifted himself to his knees again. He reeled back like a careful fishing line, making sure that he dragged inside the knight, feeling every inch of him retreat until he was empty. Aymeric whined in frustration as he waited a heart beat. Two heart beats. Then-

 

“Ah,” Aymeric cried, as Estinien slammed home, hilting himself deep and then doing it again, his whole body shaking with the force of it. He could hear Aymeric's strangled, blaspheming, cry to Halone for strength to carry on as he settled into an unforgiving pace, driving himself into the Lord Commander without mercy.

 

“Fuck! I missed this,” the dragoon grit between clenched teeth, the pace pulling him into a frenzy of sensation. He bore down on the Lord Commander's hips and reached for his forgotten, twitching cock, getting a firm grip with half-slick hands and milking him for all he was worth. Aymeric's strangled cries were music to his ears and he sank his teeth into his shoulder, sure that he would leave a mark.

 

“Ah! Estinien!” Aymeric's fingers wrapped around the hand on his cock and guided him along, quickening his pace and grinding himself back against the dragoon with as much strength as he could muster, “Oh shit, I'm gonna-, yes, please! Harder!” He was quavering on his thick shaft and Estinien was more than happy to oblige, pressing his free hand between the knight's shoulder blades and pressing him into the mattress. He adjusted himself and drove deep at the new angle, returning the both of his hands to Aymeric's hips to get better leverage and leaving Aymeric's sopping cock to his own hands. His fingers bit deep into the tender flesh of his thighs as he used them to tug the knight hard against his own thrust, meeting their hips at the zenith of each powerful stroke.

 

“Oh Gods! ESTINIEN,” Aymeric shouted into the cold morning air as he came screaming.

 

The sound of his name so passionately escaping the knight's lips sent him over the edge shortly after, rutting against the Lord Commander and pressing him with all of his weight into the bed as he milked the last of his orgasm for all of its worth.

 


End file.
